


Hardy

by itstheweekend (petersnotkingyet)



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Abduction, Case Fic, Gen, Mentions of Rape, Sexual Assault mentions, Trans Male Character, descriptions of violence, injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-04-02 22:09:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4075600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petersnotkingyet/pseuds/itstheweekend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a pedophile unknowingly abducts a transgender teenager, the team rushes to find him before the unsub discovers that the boy isn't what he thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_There are two kinds of secrets. The ones we keep from others, and the ones we keep from ourselves.  
-Frank Warren_

“Three boys kidnapped and one dead,” Morgan said from the passenger seat, looking over the file. “Why weren’t we called in earlier?”

“It’s a small town, mostly agricultural and blue collar,” JJ said. “There’s always some reluctance to involve federal agents in these areas, but they must have gotten over it after the fourth boy was taken yesterday.”

“He keeps the victims for extended periods of time, so he’s got to have somewhere isolated to take them,” Prentiss stated.

“That’ll be a needle in a haystack in a place like this,” Rossi said. The few houses they’d passed looked like they’d been dropped into a sea of cotton fields, and mobile homes peaked out from the tree line.

On paper, Hardy, Alabama was a typical small town. The crime rate was average and mostly nonviolent, and there was nothing similar to the abductions on record. Between the airport and the police station, the team drove by more churches than houses. A man in uniform was waiting outside of the police station, and he waved as the agents pulled in to the parking lot.

“I’m SSA Hotchner,” the dark haired agent greeted gruffly as he shook the man’s hand. “These are Agents Morgan, Jareau, Rossi, Prentiss and Doctor Reid.”

“I’m Sheriff Howard,” the police officer responded before jumping into the case. “We’ve had three boys kidnapped in the past year. The first one was a ten year old named Matthew Grimm. He disappeared on his way to school last May. He was found in a grocery store parking lot three weeks later, mostly uninjured. He’d been raped multiple times, and the only thing he could tell us was that a white man who wore a mask had pulled him into a vehicle and drugged him.”

“He didn’t see the unsub’s face the entire time he had him?” Morgan asked. The sheriff shook his head.

“We heard the same thing from both of the surviving boys. He wore a black ski mask, and he even kept it on when…” Sheriff Howard cleared his throat and continued. “The second boy was Austin Smith in September. He turned twelve in the month the guy had him, and then he left him in the parking lot of the mall in the next town over.”

“Was he able to tell you anything about where they were kept?” Hotch asked.

“They both said they had a bed, books, and a TV that only played VHS tapes. It was a room with an attached bathroom and no windows. Going off their descriptions, it was the same place both times,” Sheriff Howard said.

“And the third boy?” Hotch prompted, wondering why the sheriff hadn’t taken them inside yet.

“Dan Richards,” Sheriff Howard said. “Eleven years old. He was at the movies with his mom in January, went to the bathroom by himself, and didn’t come back. A couple of hunters found his body in the woods a month and a half later.”

“The unsub was becoming more confident with each successful abduction,” Reid stated. “He was taking older boys for longer periods of time, but something must have gone wrong with Dan Richards.”

“He took Dylan Brady yesterday afternoon,” Sheriff Howard said. “He was at the elementary school soccer field watching the boy he babysits—a seven year old named Carter James—play summer ball. Someone saw him walk to the bathroom at some point during the game, and then Carter couldn’t find him afterwards.”

“Dylan’s old enough to be in charge of a seven year old?” JJ asked.

The sheriff nodded and said, “He’s fifteen.”

“That’s way out of the established age range,” Morgan said, but Sheriff Howard shrugged. 

“I doubt the pervert knew that,” he said. “Dylan’s baby-faced and real short. He only looks about eleven or twelve.”

“We’re going to need a picture of Dylan and contact information for the families of the other boys,” Hotch said.

“It’s all in the conference room we set up when we heard you guys were coming,” the sheriff stated. “And we called the families and let them know you might be needing to talk to them.”

With a nod, Hotch made a move to go inside, but Sheriff Howard gestured for him to wait. “There’s something you folks ought to know,” he said, chewing on his lip. “Matthew told us the man didn’t touch him for the first two days he had him, and Austin said four days. To be frank, I think that’s the only chance we have to find Dylan Brady.”

“And why is that?” Hotch said.

The sheriff sighed. “He’s transgender. The kid is biologically, anatomically, and genetically female. Only reason I know is because I saw his permit when I didn’t think he looked old enough to be driving. To the best of my knowledge, nobody in town but his family knows.”

“How well does he pass?” Prentiss asked.

“Pretty damn well,” Sheriff Howard said. “If he doesn’t get caught going to the bathroom or getting cleaned up, the pervert won’t find out until he tries to…” The man trailed off uncomfortably.

“And once he finds out, his reason to keep Dylan alive is gone,” Morgan stated grimly.


	2. Chapter 2

“Oh, god,” JJ whispered.

“What is it?” Morgan said. Wordlessly, the blond agent held up the picture of Dylan Brady. The teenager was grinning impishly and looking somewhere just right of the camera. Nothing about his features really stood out—dark hair, hazel eyes, white teeth, and a little more arch in one eyebrow than the other—but something about him was incredibly endearing. “The sheriff wasn’t kidding when he said he looked young.”

“Low testosterone,” Reid commented, glancing up from the geographical profile he was working on. “His features are actually pretty masculine, considering.” Walking over to the cork board, Reid tacked up the map. “The first three abduction sites all have at least ten miles between them. The elementary school where Dylan disappeared is only a quarter mile from the place where he took Matthew Grimm.”

“So he’s devolving,” Morgan said. “He killed the third victim and then abducted another only a month and a half later.”

Knocking on the door, one of the deputies stepped into the room. “Dylan Brady’s parents are here,” he stated. “And the boy he was babysitting and his family are on their way.”

Morgan went to speak to the parents where the deputy had situated them in another room. Mrs. Brady was sniffling, but her husband kept a straight face. “This is Agent Morgan from the FBI,” the deputy said to the couple. Mr. Brady stood up to shake Morgan’s hand and then sat back down next to his wife.

“Dylan’s a good kid,” Mrs. Brady said once Morgan had taken a seat. “He’s an honor student, and he goes to church, and little kids love him. He’s just a real good kid.”

“We’re going to do everything we can to get him back to you as fast as possible,” Morgan promised.

“Has someone already told you about Dylan not always being Dylan?” Mr. Brady said, and the agent nodded. “The sheriff and the principal at his school are the only people who know. He… He won’t be happy if we get him back and everyone in town knows.”

“It shouldn’t be necessary to tell anyone,” Morgan reassured the father. If anything, a small town like Hardy would look harder for a boy they didn’t have any reason to hate. “We don’t think the man who took him knew, and it shouldn’t affect the search for Dylan. My team knows, but we’ll be discreet.”

“We moved here because we thought it’d be safer for him,” Mrs. Brady stated. “When he came out as Dylan in a place where everyone had known him as Hannah, not everyone took it well. We thought it’d be better if he got a fresh start and went stealth.”

“How long ago did you move here?” Morgan asked.

“About fourteen months,” Mr. Brady said. “Some of the boys at his old school threatened to fuck him bloody, and the administration didn’t do anything more than give them a slap on the wrist. We brought him here to be _safe,_ and now some pedophile’s got him.”

“In the past few weeks, has Dylan mentioned anyone unusual?” Morgan asked. “You might not have thought anything of it at the time, but it’s possible that he’s encountered this man before. He’d be between 30 and 50, physically fit, and might have seemed a little too interested in your son. But he wouldn’t have known Dylan well enough to know how old he is.”

Mrs. Brady shook her head. “No, I can’t think of anyone,” she said. “He’s friendly, but no one he’s talked to really stands out.”

“Alright,” Morgan said. “Is there anything you can think of that we need to know?”

“He’s got allergies and asthma,” the mother said. “He carries an epipen for bees and nuts. His epipen should have been in his pocket when he was at the field, but I saw his inhaler sitting on his dresser at home.”

Meanwhile, JJ and Hotch were speaking with the family of the boy Dylan had been babysitting. Carter was fidgeting and looked like he didn’t want to be there, but the seven year old seemed to understand the importance of what was going on. “So you and Dylan hang out sometimes, right, Carter?” JJ asked softly. The boy nodded. “And he walked you to your soccer game yesterday?”

“Yeah,” Carter said. “My mom had to work, and my sister was busy. Me and Dylan were gonna go play Mario after, but he was gone.”

“His coach called me after he’d been waiting for fifteen minutes,” the mother chimed in. “Dylan’s never left Carter anywhere, and I couldn’t get ahold of him when I tried to call. I tried his mom too, but she had no idea where he was.”

“Alright,” JJ said. “When was the last time you saw him, Carter?”

“Sitting on the sideline during the game,” Carter said.

JJ asked, “Was he talking to anyone?”

Carter shook his head.

“How about while you guys were walking there?” Hotch said. 

“No,” Carter said. “Just me.”

“How long do you think it’s going to take you to find him?” Carter’s sister, Kayla, asked. The girl was significantly older than her brother, probably fifteen or sixteen. “When I got home from Nigel's and heard what happened... We don’t talk much anymore, but Dylan and I were friends. That’s how he got started babysitting Carter.”

“It’s not babysitting,” the seven year old stated insistently. “We’re buddies. We just hang out.”

“We’re going to do everything we can to find Dylan,” JJ said reassuringly. “When was the last time you spoke to him?”

“In person, it was the last day of school,” Kayla said. “That was two weeks ago. He butt-dialed me once last week, but that’s it.”

“And nothing seemed unusual?” Hotch asked. Like he’d expected, the teenager shook her head. Handing a business card to their mother, the agent said, “Give us a call if either of them thinks of something that could be helpful. Thank you for your time.”

“What do you think Kayla and Dylan fell out over?” JJ asked as she and Hotch walked back to the room where the rest of the team was.

“Is it relevant?” Hotch replied. 

“Victimology,” JJ said with a shrug. “It might help us understand Dylan better.”

“Based on the method of kidnapping and the fact that he didn’t know Dylan was fifteen, I’d say he picked the boys based on opportunity and appearance,” Hotch said. “Victimology is irrelevant.”

JJ shrugged once again. “It just seemed a little strange,” she said.

“Did the parents have anything useful?” Hotch asked as soon as he entered the conference room and saw Morgan.

“They moved here fourteen months ago after Dylan came out,” the agent said. “The dad is a surveyor, the mom teaches 12th graders, and both of the older brothers are on their way home from college right now. Dylan’s carries an epipen, and he most likely had it on him, but not his inhaler.”

“What’s he allergic to?” Reid asked.

“Bees and nuts,” Morgan said. “From what the two surviving boys said, Dylan should be okay so long as the unsub doesn’t give him food that’s been contaminated.” 

“Matthew and Austin both said he brought them three meals a day, and usually he’d sit with them while they ate,” the sheriff said. “After a while he even let them pick meals.”

“In some delusional way, he cares for these boys and wants them to like him,” Morgan said. “The first few days where he doesn’t touch them may be his way of cultivating a relationship. He gives them a room with things to do and spends time with them.”

“That might be in our favor,” JJ said, glancing over at Hotch. “We can have the parents do a press conference reaching out and say Dylan needs his inhaler.”

Hotch nodded. “Make it happen.”

“We still don’t know what changed with the third victim,” Prentiss pointed out. “None of the other boys had injuries aside from being sexually abused, but Dan Richards was beaten to death.”

Rummaging through the stack of papers on the table, Reid pulled out the crime scene photos from the site where the body had been found. “He was fully dressed in clean clothes though,” the youngest agent said. “There’s no way this is what he was wearing when he was killed. There had to have been some remorse or compassion to clean and clothe Dan before he took the body into the woods.”

“I want JJ prepping Dylan Brady’s parents for a press conference,” Hotch said. “Reid, you’re coming with me to the hospital to see if they can tell us anything about Dan Richards. Everyone else needs to be interviewing the surviving victims.”


	3. Chapter 3

Samantha Brady was a good face for the press conference.  She cried, but her voice was still clear.  Her husband squeezed her shoulder, and she carried on speaking.  The two college-age brothers had both driven down, and they stood behind their parents wordlessly.  There was nothing about any of them that really stood out.  All four of them--and Dylan's picture--were dark haired.  Mr. Brady had a beer belly, and the two brothers were both broad shouldered.  They looked like any family in Hardy.  Hotch had a feeling that would work in their favor, no matter how much people wanted to avoid the fact that someone in their community was a pedophile with a preference for boys.

"Think he'll go for it?" JJ said once they'd gotten the family away from the press.  They'd given out the information about the inhaler drop along with informing the public--and hopefully the unsub--about Dylan's allergies.  Giving out information about the drop in such a public fashion was risky.  Any bored asshole could try to take it and destroy their plan, but it was their only means of communication.

"It'd be convenient, but we can't count on it," Hotch said.  "We need to be ready to deliver a profile in a few hours, but the odds are that the unsub is watching."

"Agent Hotchner?" Sheriff Howard said.  "We just got a call that a hunter found a body, but it's not Dylan Brady."

"They're sure?" Hotch said.

The sheriff nodded.  "It's not a kid," he elaborated.  "I should have led with that.  It's a grown man, mid to late thirties.  We've got deputies on the scene now, and I've instructed them not to touch anything like you said."

"Is it even related?" JJ said.  "An adult man isn't exactly consistent with previous victimology."

"I'm pretty sure," Sheriff Howard said.  "They're a trail out through the woods there.  Dan Richards was found half a mile off of it.  Our new John Doe was a scant two miles off in the opposite direction."

"Is the face mutilated in any way?" Hotch asked.  

The sheriff looked confused, but he shook his head.  "Decomposing, but it's all there," he said.  Hotch nodded.

"Prentiss, I want you to get over there with a sketch artist.  I want a non-graphic image we can publicize to get an ID if his prints aren't in the system.  If this is unrelated, I don't want to waste any of Dylan's time.  Morgan, I want you to take a LEO and watch the inhaler site.  Rossi is going to make the drop and drive away in case the unsub is watching."

The team split up quickly.  Back inside the station, Reid added the location of the new body to their map.  The remaining agents stared at the board. The faces of all four boys looked out from the top left corner. It was interesting, the to look at the type of picture parents chose to provide.  Dylan's had been taken from his Instagram, but the other three were all taken by someone other than the boy.  In each picture, the kid was smiling and unaware.

Considering Dylan was the fourth boy kidnapped in less than a year, there was surprisingly little evidence coming forward.  He'd disappeared from a seven year old's soccer match.  It wasn't that crowded, and it wasn't a large facility.  If Dylan had put up a fight, someone would have seen.

"Dylan knew who took him, right?" Reid said.

"That's likely," Hotch said.  "We thought otherwise initially, but with the environment he was abducted from..."

"And we have the list of known adult males in Dylan's life from the family?" Reid said.

"Yeah," JJ said.  "Garcia went over it, and none of them have records.  The list is dozens of men, but most of them were approved to work with children.  Teachers, church employees, the parents' coworkers."

"What about parents of friends?" Reid asked.

"Um..." JJ said, fumbling through papers on the desk she was at until she came across the list.  "No, none listed.  Samantha Brady said he's not close with anyone really.  There's a girl he talks to at school--Stella King--but her mother is a single parent and her brother is only seventeen.  He's got a few guys at church that he's on good terms with.  We've got another single mother and," she paused, searching through the pages, "and a deployed father."

"He's got three friends?" Hotch said.

"From the way his parents and his brothers talked before the press conference, 'friends' is generous," JJ said.  

"Socially isolated, accustomed to keeping secrets, deviant from typical gender standards, likely struggles with his image," Reid listed.  "In terms of grooming a teenager, he's ideal.  His parents seemed to have dealt with his transition fairly well, but it's likely there's a wedge there that isn't visible without Dylan present.  If he's starved for affection and attention, it wouldn't for Dylan to justify keeping someone a secret from his parents."

"We need to speak to everyone Dylan is on good terms with," Hotch decided quickly.  "If there is someone he hasn't told his parents about, it's more likely a peer would pick up on it."

"On it," JJ said.  She grabbed her phone and stepped into the hallway to make some calls.  As she was leaving, Prentiss caught the door and stepped inside, looking flustered.

"We've got an ID on the John Doe," Prentiss said.  "There was enough tissue remaining to run his prints, and he had a prior for unpaid child support.  It's Dan Richard's father."


	4. Chapter 4

"So you and Dylan were pretty good friends, right?" Prentiss asked.

"I guess," Stella King said.  She was a short girl with curly hair and a face full of freckles.  Her nail polish was chipped around the edges, and she picked at it nervously as she spoke.  "He's kind of quiet, but we get along."

"When did you guys start hanging out?" Prentiss said.

"This school year," Stella said.  "We didn't have any classes together when he first moved."

"Did Dylan ever talk to you about someone he knew who seemed a little strange?" Prentiss asked.  "It could have been someone older that he talked to."

Stella started to shake her head, but she hesitated.  "Well... his friends from church are older.  He talks about them sometimes, but I've never met any of them."

"How much older?"

"One of them is a senior," Stella said.  "Luke is about twenty."

"When you're with Dylan, does he ever seem preoccupied by his phone?" Prentiss asked.

"No more than anyone else is."

"When he's texting, does he ever seem like he's avoiding mentioning who it is?" Prentiss asked.  Garcia had Dylan's phone records, but that was in addition to everything else about the teenager and the previous victims she had to comb through.

"No," Stella said.  "But he has a tumblr.  I've seen him looking at it on his phone, but he would never give me his URL.  It must have been pretty popular, though.  He got a lot of messages."

"Thank you for speaking with me, Stella," Prentiss said as she stood.  She handed the teenger a card with her cell phone number.  "If you think of anything else, just give me a call."

"Okay," Stella said.  She examined the card for a second before standing up and tucking it into her pocket.  

Moments after Stella King had left, Prentiss saw another teenager being walked out.  "Is that Lukas Smith?" she asked.

Rossi nodded.  "He's a broke college kid, still lives with his parents.  I don't think he's connected."

"Did he know anything?"

"Nothing relevant," Rossi said.  "Dylan was private, but he spent a lot of time with the youth group from his church.  Smith gave us the youth minister's phone number."

Hotch appeared out of the last interview room, walking Cole Martin and his mother out.  The teenager was red-faced, and his mother rubbed the small of his back as they walked.  Before Prentiss or Rossi could ask, Hotch shook his head.  Prentiss sighed.

"Dylan is very intelligent," Rossi said rationally.  "He's aware of what happened to the other boys, and he's aware of hate crimes.  He probably knows that he needs to keep the unsub convinced that he's a young cisgender boy.  The longer he goes without taking his binder off, the more likely he is to have breathing issues."

"And we've got no leads and no crime scene," Hotch stated.

"Maybe not," Prentiss said.  "Stella King said Dylan runs a blog on Tumblr.  I want to get a look at his laptop."

Hotch nodded.  "Take Morgan with you," he said.  "Update the family.  They've most likely already heard that an adult's body was found.  Emphasize that we don't know cause of death.  Sarah Richards said her husband was an alcoholic; his death may be unrelated.  Search Dylan's room for signs that he's been groomed--expensive gifts, hiding places."

There was nothing that stood out about Jim and Samantha Brady's house.  It was one story, and their nearest neighbor was a half mile away.  The front porch was peeling and dusty, but inside the house was nicer.  When they recognized Morgan, they ushered him in quickly, eager for news.  Morgan could see into the kitchen from where he stood.  Casserole dishes covered every surface, and flowers wilted on the table.

"They found a man's body in the woods, right?" Dylan's brother Seth said as soon as he saw Morgan.

Morgan nodded.  "It was Thomas Richard," he said.  "He was too decomposed for us to see an obvious cause of death.  It's possible that this is unrelated, but we don't want to inform the public until we contact Sarah Richard.  Right now, an autopsy is being conducted to determine if foul play was involved."

 "You find a dead body in the woods while my sister's missing, and you don't think it's related?" Richard Brady said.  Morgan turned to examine the oldest brother.  He was the tallest of the family, but he had the same dark hair as the rest of them.  His eye color was almost identical to Dylan's, and he met Morgan's gaze without flinching.

"Mrs. Brady, would it be alright if we could get a look at Dylan's room?" Prentiss asked.

"Of course," Mrs. Brady said, lingering as he walked past her oldest son.  "It's this way."

She pushed open the first door they came to on the hallway.  The room was small, but a bed, a desk, a dresser, and a bookshelf had been squeezed in.  It was reasonably messy, and the paint was blue.  There were Legos on the bookshelf, between a stack of comic books and the entire Hary Potter series.  The room--like Dylan himself--seemed very young.  Mrs. Brady made a choking noise and excused herself.  Prentiss watched her go before stepping into Dylan's room.

The laptop was easy to find, plugged in charging on top of the desk.  Prentiss sat down in the rolling chair and powered it up.  A password request appeared on the screen, and Prentiss began sorting through the desk drawers.

"He probably uses the laptop often enough not to need the password written down," Morgan said as he examined the bookshelf for anything out of place.

"Yeah, but Dylan may use the same password for everything," Prentiss said.  She found an old report card in the bottom drawer, and on the back a username and password had been handwritten.  She typed in the password, and the computer quickly rejected it.  She tried it again without the string of numbers on the end, and the computer began to load.

"Dylan runs three separate blogs," Prentiss said once she'd succeeded in logging into the teenager's account.  "He's got more than two thousand followers between them, and there are hundreds of messages."

"Call Garcia," Morgan advised, peering below Dylan's bed.  There was a book shoved against the far wall.  It was just out of reach, so Morgan found a clothes hanger on the floor and used it to slide the book closer.

"Is that a photo album?" Prentiss asked, pausing with her phone in her hand.  Morgan made a confirmational noise.

"'Happy birthday, Dylan.  Here's to another great year.  Love, Kayla,'" Morgan read outloud before flipping through the pages.

"Carter James's sister?"

"Yeah, that's her in the picture.  She said they used to be friends, but this isn't a gift a teenager would give to someone they weren't very close to," Morgan said.  Prentiss walked over to examine the album.  Most of its contents were pictures, but some pages held notes and movie stubs.

"Do you think they dated?" Prentiss asked.

"Doubtful," Morgan said.  "Kayla would have referred to him as an ex, and someone else would be babysitting her brother."

While Prentiss called Garcia with the information on Dylan's tumblr, Morgan carefully took pictures of each page of the album before returning it to the hiding space against the wall.  By the time he had finished searching the room, Prentiss was off the phone.  Back in the living room, Samantha, Jim, and Seth Brady were on the couch staring mindlessly at the TV.  Richard was in the kitchen, searching through the cabinet.

"We'll call as soon as we know more," Prentiss promised.  Mrs. Brady nodded, and the two FBI agents left the house.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

“What are you watching?” Morgan asked.

“The footage from Dan Richards’s abduction,” Reid said without lifting his gaze.  The video was low quality, but Reid’s focus was absolute.  His face was inches from the screen, and he chewed his bottom lip while he thought.  “Look at this.”

Morgan leaned in while the younger agent rewound the footage.  Aside from the two employees working the counter, the theater lobby was empty until a grainy blur Reid indicated to be Dan appeared.  The boy disappeared from the cameras view when he entered the bathroom, so Reid skipped ahead.  Dan exited the bathroom and began walking back in the direction he’d come from, but he paused, head swiveling towards the door.  The eleven year old took a few more steps and paused again before he stepped outside.

“He just walked out,” Reid said.  “One of the employees said they remembered a car honking right before Dan left, but they can’t see out the front window from their angle.  He was going to someone he knew.”

“And three months later we find his father dead in the woods,” Morgan said, standing up and pulling out his phone.

“We don’t have the coroner’s report yet, but judging from decomposition, Thomas Richards has been dead for months, though,” Reid said.  “Who are you calling?”

“Garcia,” Morgan said.  “Something’s not right.”

“What can I do you for, crime fighter?” Garcia greeted.

“Can you do some digging on Thomas Richards?” Morgan asked.

“The father of the third victim?” Garcia said.  Morgan made an affirmative noise.

“His body was found in the woods not far from where his son was found,” Morgan said.

“I’ll find everything you never knew you needed as soon as I finish up these tumblr messages,” Garcia promised.  “Are you thinking Dan Richards’s death was unrelated?  Some kind of custodial thing?”

“I’m not sure,” Morgan said.  “Have you found anything from Dylan’s online activity?”

“There’s so much of it that it’s hard to tell what’s relevant and what’s not,” Garcia said.  “It looks like he keeps everything he’s sent.  One of Dylan’s blogs was an advice network for other transgender people.  He’d gotten several death threats on there.  I’ve been working on getting locations for those, but I haven’t found any that came from nearby.”

“What about something provocative?” Morgan asked.

“He doesn’t post pictures of himself often, but he’s gotten a few of those,” Garcia said.  “I don’t think he’s ever responded.  Some of them are of the more innocent, flirtatious variety, but they’re all teenagers.”

“Garcia, what are the other two blogs about?” Reid asked.

“One is a couple different fandoms, the other is personal,” Garcia said.

“Does he ever mention being transgender on those two?” Reid said.  He could hear Garcia typing for a few seconds before she gave a negative response.  “What about his age or where he lives?”

“I don’t see him ever saying so outright, but it’s possible that he put enough on here for someone to piece together,” Garcia said.

“I would deprioritize the social media,” Reid stated.  “There’s a lot to dig through, and considering the other victims, it’s unlikely that the unsub came across Dylan online.”

“Will do,” Garcia said.  “I’ll get to work on Thomas Richards then.”

“Alright,” Morgan said.  “Keep me updated, baby girl.”

“You know I will,” Garcia said before hanging up.

Behind Morgan, Reid was standing at the evidence board again.  His eyes flickered around the board quickly, and he twisted his fingers at his side.  When Morgan’s phone began to ring, Reid gave no sign of hearing it.

“Garcia?” Morgan said.

“Okay, I know we just hung up, but I don’t know how we didn’t know about this until now,” Garcia said.  Her tone was frantic.  “Thomas Richards spent three years in prison for soliciting an eleven year old boy online.”

“That’s within the age range of victims,” Reid said.  He’d left the board to stand next to Morgan, straining to hear Garcia.  Morgan put the phone on speaker.  “If he got caught, then it’s likely there was more than one child.”

“Garcia, does he own land in the area?” Morgan asked.

“He inherited seven acres outside of town, but the only house or building he has ties to is the one Sarah Richards lives in,” Garcia said.  “I’m checking financials now.”

“Look for something he wouldn’t need a permit for,” Morgan said.  “A shed, a shipping container, a storage building.”

“I’ve got building supplies seventeen months ago,” Garcia said.  “Plumbing, electrical, everything.  Richards worked in construction; he could have done it himself.  Gotten help from guys he knew.”

“I’ve got to get ahold of Hotch right now, Garcia,” Morgan said.  “Find me a recent satellite image of his land and look for a building.  Seven acres is a lot to cover.”

“There must have been a partner,” Reid said as Morgan dialed Hotch’s number.  “Thomas Richards could have taken his own son from the movie theater to lure other boys.  Something went wrong, Thomas or the partner killed Dan, and the partner killed Thomas.”

“Hotch,” Morgan said once the call connected, “we’ve got something.”


	6. Chapter 6

            Thomas Richards’s cabin was barely more than a shack.  It had electricity and plumbing, but little else.  Outside, a half-starved dog bayed at the FBI vehicles as they tore down the path Richard’s had fashioned himself.  The dog startled and took off running when Morgan broke the lock on the front door. 

The interior of the cabin was no better than the outside.  Flies swarmed dishes left in the sink, and fruit rotted on the counter.  There was a child’s sleeping bag with the Avengers printed on it in one corner.  There was a well-worn blue teddy bear tucked inside, and a small set of pajamas had been folded haphazardly at the foot.  Thomas Richards had taken the time to pick up some of his son’s belongings before abducting him.  In the corner adjacent to Dan’s space, there was a mattress with no frame and no sheets.  Thomas Richards must have lived there for some time after leaving his wife, but he’d never taken the liberty of settling in.  There were no books, no photographs, no personal items aside from Dan’s bear.  The lone blanket was thrown back, and the pillows were dusty.  No one had slept in this house in months.

The only area of the cabin that showed any sign of humanity was the room the abducted boys had been kept in.   There was a bed with a frame—a luxury Thomas Richards hadn’t even afforded himself—beside a bookshelf containing children’s books and VHS tapes.  The TV was on the floor with the VCR next to it.  A Batman cartoon—one Austin Smith had watched over an over—was still in.  It almost looked like a regular child’s bedroom, but the illusion was ruined by claw marks on the walls and the locks on the outside of the door.

When the crime scene techs tore the cabin apart, they found exactly what the five agents had expected after they saw the living arrangements.  Thomas and Dan Richards’s DNA was in the main room and the kitchenette.  Matthew Grimm, Austin Smith, and Thomas Richards’s DNA was in the child’s room.  There was no trace of a partner.  There was no trace of Dylan Brady.

Notifying the Grimms and the Smiths was an uncomfortable process.  There would be an investigation, but would never be a trial or a conviction.  There was no bringing a dead man to justice.  The working theory was that Thomas Richards had been caught in the act of murdering his son in a fit of rage, and the witness—likely a hunter—had killed Thomas and fled.  The families couldn’t be told that, but Hotch had no doubt that it would soon come to light in a town like Hardy.  The Grimms and the Smiths only had a handful of answers, but they were far better off than the Bradies.  Dylan had been missing for over a week, and the case had been solved without a shred of evidence linked to the fifteen year old.

Hotch had taken it upon himself to tell the Bradies that the pedophile had been caught without finding Dylan.  Rossi came too, but Hotch insisted on being the one to break the news.  Mr. Brady turned away and bit down on his lip while Dylan’s brothers just stared, but Samantha Brady’s eyes narrowed.  Her hands clenched into fists on her knees, and there was a fire in her that hadn’t been present in the sobbing woman in the press conference.

“My son did not run away,” she stated firmly.  “I know that’s what you think.  I can see it in your eyes.  Maybe we… maybe we haven’t done perfectly right by Dylan, but I know my boys.  Dylan had the biggest heart of anybody in this town.  He would not leave Carter James alone at that field.  He just wouldn’t.”

“Mrs. Brady,” Hotch started, but she cut him off with a sharp gesture.

“Dylan loved that boy like he was his own brother,” Samantha Brady swore.  “When Dylan and Kayla were friends, Kayla was always skipping out on her brother to sneak off with Weston.  Dylan was the one who picked up the slack.  He babysat for free and went to every ball game Carter asked him to.  That child has no daddy and a momma so busy she can’t see straight.  Dylan knows how badly it hurts a child to feel like no one’s there for them.” 

At that, a choking noise tore itself from her throat.  Her husband moved to comfort her, but she shook him off.  She was crying again, but her eyes were still burning.  “Dylan didn’t run away,” she insisted once more.

“Mrs. Brady, we’ve found answers for the other boys, but not for Dylan.  The investigation is ongoing,” Hotch said.  “We don’t think he ran away either.”

Mrs. Brady nodded slowly, staring hard at the two agents.  “Do you have children, Agent Hotchner?” she asked.

“I have a son,” Hotch said.  Samantha Brady nodded again and excused herself from the room.

When Hotch and Rossi left the Bradies house, they stood in the driveway for a moment.  “What are the chances that a town this size has more than one teenager named Weston?” Rossi posed.

“Slim,” Hotch said.

“Weston Braly was one of the people looked into early on,” Rossi said.  “Someone saw a car a lot like his leaving around the time witnesses lost sight of Dylan.  He had an alibi, though.  Nigel Singer said they were together all day.”

“Just him and Nigel?” Hotch asked.  Rossi shrugged.

“That’s what he said at least,” he said.  “It was just the two of them, no one to corroborate.”

“Kayla James mentioned that she was with someone named Nigel the day Dylan went missing,” Hotch said.  She’d made the comment in passing, but Weston’s statement had clearly said he and Nigel were alone.  “What are the chances Hardy has two teenagers named Nigel?”

“Slim.”

Hotch was already making calls as they climbed into the SUV.  With practiced precision, he dispensed Morgan and JJ to Nigel Singer’s home and Reid and Prentiss to Weston Braly’s.  He got the James family’s address from Sheriff Howard and sped the whole way there.


	7. Chapter 7

Carter James was in the front yard, kicking a soccer ball against the bricks of the house.  He paused to watch the SUV pull into the driveway, closely followed by a police car.  When Hotch and Rossi stepped out, Carter abandoned the ball and climbed the porch steps.  “Mom, the FBI is here,” he yelled, leaving the door open behind him.  She must have been nearby, because Ms. James was in the doorway before the two agents had made it up the driveway.

“Ms. James, where is your daughter?” Hotch demanded.

“At her boyfriend’s house,” Ms. James answered, clearly confused.

“Weston Braly?” Hotch asked, and Ms. James nodded.  “That’s interesting, because I just spoke to two agents at his house.  His father said they’re here.”

“Let me call her,” Ms. James said.  As she selected the contact, she continued to talk, “She left a couple hours ago.  I don’t know when she’ll be home.”  Kayla didn’t answer, so Ms. James called again. 

“We don’t have time for this,” Hotch said when there was no answer the second time.

“Where would Kayla go?  When she wants to be alone, where does she go?” Rossi asked.

“I don’t know,” Ms. James said.  She was realizing this was about much more than asking Kayla a few questions about Dylan.  “I swear, I have no idea where they’d be.”

Hotch turned to the police officer who’d followed them.  “Park your car down the street and stay here,” he ordered.  “Call us if she shows up.”

As the two agents returned to the SUV, Rossi’s phone rang.  “No sign of Kayla,” he said in lieu of a greeting.

“Nigel Singer isn’t home either,” JJ said.  “His mom told us that he’s been housesitting for his older sister for two weeks, though.  It’s a mobile home about twenty minutes outside of town.”

“Did you get the address?” Rossi said.

“I sent it to Garcia.  She’s sending you directions now,”

Rossi turned to Hotch, flicked on the sirens at the look on his face.  “Nigel Singer has had access to an isolated property for the past two weeks,” he said.  “Housesitting for his sister.  Isolated mobile home.  Kayla, Weston, and Nigel all have cars.  Kayla and Weston have jobs.  Sneaking off to Dylan would have been doable.”

“We haven’t spent any time profiling these kids,” Hotch said.  “We have no idea what state they would have kept Dylan in.”

“He’d have at least some food and water,” Rossi said.  “Teenagers generally aren’t developed enough to plan to murder someone by deprivation.”

 Despite Hotch’s driving, Morgan and JJ had a nine mile advantage and arrived at Lacy Singer’s home first.  There were already three cars in the gravel drive way, one of which they recognized as Weston Braly’s.  As painful as it was for the two agents, they waited out of sight for the other two vehicles of agents to arrive.

“We ran the plates,” JJ said as soon as Hotch arrived.  “We’re in the right place.  The lights are on, but we haven’t seen any movement.”

“EMTs are on the way,” Morgan said.  Normally, that measure wouldn’t have been taken in a situation where they were unsure if the victim was actually present, but the entire unit seemed to share a sinking feeling of dread.

“Rossi, JJ, Reid, take the back door,” Hotch ordered.  “We’ll make contact at the front.  Our priority is finding Dylan.”

After giving the other three time to make their way around, Prentiss pounded on the front door.  “FBI,” she boomed.  After several long moments, the door opened to reveal a redheaded boy who looked about sixteen.  “Are you Nigel Singer?” Prentiss asked.

“Yeah,” Nigel mumbled.

“Can we come in?” Prentiss said.

“I’m not really supposed to let anyone in,” Nigel said.  “It’s my sister’s house.”

Prentis made a point of looking at the two extra cars in the driveway and raised her eyebrows.  “It looks like you’ve already let someone in, Nigel.”

Just when it looked like Nigel was going to slam the door, a high voice in the back of the house screamed.  Morgan pushed to the front of the group, shouldered Nigel aside, and forced his way into the house just in time to see a teenage girl make a run for the back door.  He let her go, and JJ had seized her before she made it ten feet.

Weston Braly, the last of the three teens had just stepped out of a room at the end of the hall, but he shut himself back in as soon as he saw the agents pouring into the front room.  Morgan was on him in seconds, breaking the lock with two kicks.  Weston was trying to force the window open, and Morgan bodily threw him into the hall where the other agents were waiting.

Dylan looked drastically different than he had in the impish picture the police had received from his family.  Half of his face was swollen and blue, and his bottom lip had busted.  His sweat-drenched hair was wild, and he starting sobbing with relief as soon as he saw Morgan.  The fifteen year old was supporting himself on his arms, and something about the way his legs were lying seemed off.

The dress was the most unexpected thing.  It was gauzy blue, large and poofy like a pageant dress.  Later, they’d all learn that it was a pageant dress, one of Kayla’s.  Morgan winced internally when he saw the blood down the front.  Dylan let himself sag against the wall and began pulling at the oversized collar.

“Please,” he sobbed.  It was the first thing he’d said to any of them.

“Go get a jacket out of the car,” Morgan said to Reid.  “A big one.”

While Reid took off running, Morgan crouched next to Dylan.  “It’s okay,” he said lowly.  “Everything’s okay now.  There’s an ambulance coming.  We’ll get you fixed up and back to your parents.”

“I don’t want anybody seeing me in this,” Dylan said.  He had to be in an incredible amount of pain, but his focus was single-minded.

“I know,” Morgan said.  “He’s getting you something.”

When Reid returned with the jacket, JJ unzipped the dress and helped Dylan get it over his head.  Dylan hissed in pain as he shifted, but he wasted no time before slipping into the FBI jacket, zipping it, and pulling it down over his legs.  His legs were bruised and bloody, but neither of them appeared to be broken like Morgan initially thought.  With a sick feeling rising in his throat, he realized Dylan’s legs had both been forced out of socket.

The ambulance arrived moments after they’d gotten Dylan into the jacket.  A herd of police cars followed.  Kayla, Nigel, and Weston were led into three separate cruisers while EMTS saw to Dylan.  The Bradies were called and told to meet them at the hospital.  JJ rode in the ambulance with Dylan, murmuring soothing nothings while the boy thanked her again and again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There should be one more chapter after this.


	8. Chapter 8

“Dylan butt-dialled me a couple weeks ago,” Kayla said, her gaze locked on the table.  She hadn’t looked at Hotchner, her mother, or her attorney since they’d entered the room.

“On the day he had an endocrinologist appointment?” Hotch said.  Kayla nodded.

“I didn’t pick up when it actually happened,” she said.  “I listened to the message later.  I was with Weston and I played it on speaker, so he heard too.  Everything just kind of spiraled from there.”

“What did you hear?”

“Dylan and his mom talking to the doctor about getting him started on testosterone,” Kayla said.  “We didn’t know he was trans before that.”

“You didn’t know when you and Dylan were hanging out when he first moved to Hardy?” Hotch said.

“No,” Kayla said, shaking her head.

“Why did you and Dylan stop speaking?” Hotch asked.

“He had a crush on me,” Kayla said.  “I turned him down, and he was cool about it.  Weston didn’t want him around anymore, though.”

Suddenly, she looked Hotch in the eye for the first time.  “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” she said.  “We were just going to scare him.  Weston said we’d only keep him there a couple days and scare him into saying he’d gotten abducted like those other boys.  But then the sheriff called the FBI.  We didn’t know what to do with him, so we just kept doing what we’d been doing.”

“Which was beating him in the mobile home?” Hotch asked.  Kayla looked back down at the table.

“Yeah.”

“Where did you take Dylan from?” Hotch said.

“The ball field,” Kayla said.  “I told him that my mom got off work early and was there to watch the rest of the game and take Carter home.  We offered him a ride home.  Dylan isn’t sixteen yet, and I was supposed to take him home anyways when he was done babysitting.”

“Who’s ‘we?’”

“All three of us,” Kayla said.  “Nigel’s Weston’s best friend, so he just sort of got brought it.  He goes along with whatever Weston says, and his sister’s place was the only place we had with any privacy.  We took Weston’s car since the windows are tinted, and Nigel drove.  I was in the front seat, and Weston was in the back so he could hold Dylan down when Dylan realized we weren’t going to his house.”

“Lucy Singer is due to return home in three days,” Hotch said.  “Nigel knew that.  What was your plan for when you couldn’t hold him there anymore?”

Kayla’s shoulders curled in farther.  She didn’t lift her gaze.  “Weston has a gun,” she said quietly.  “We were going to hope you thought it was the pedophile.”

The door to the observation room where Prentiss and Morgan were watching the interview opened, and JJ stepped in.  She’d spent the last several hours at the hospital with the Bradies, informing them of what had occurred and getting a statement from Dylan.  She looked exhausted but felt infinitely better than she did when cases didn’t have as happy of an ending.

“How’s Dylan?” Prentiss asked.

“Better than expected,” JJ said.  “He’s dehydrated and hungry.  His face is bruised pretty bad, but no fractures.  Both of his legs were dislocated, and his pelvis is broken.  No sexual assault, though.  They’d just… been kicking him.  It’ll take surgery and physical therapy, but he’ll walk in a couple months.”

Morgan nodded.  “We got there in time,” he said.  “It could have been a lot worse.”

“This case,” JJ said with a sigh.  “We spent days chasing Thomas Richards while he was dead in the woods and three sixteen year olds had Dylan the whole time.”

The door reopened, and Sheriff Howard stuck his head in.  “Have y’all seen the news?” he asked.  With a glance back at Hotch and Kayla, the three agents filed out of the observation room to get a look at the TV.  Several of the police officers were gathered around it, and the agents had to step through them to see the headline rolling at the bottom of the screen.

_Three Teens Arrested in Kidnapping and Attempted Murder of Alabama Transgender Teen_

“All that and Dylan still gets outed,” Prentiss said.  The news anchor didn’t have much information to offer, but they were showing the picture of Dylan that’d been released.  Hazel eyes, dark hair, white teeth.  He looked like anybody’s son.  He was anybody’s son, the same way Dan Richards, Austin Smith, and Matthew Grimm were.

“But he lived,” Morgan said insistently.  “He gets to choose how to respond to this.  Maybe that’s the best thing we could do for him.”

“Advocacy groups are already approaching the family,” JJ said.  “As out of it as he is, Dylan’s interested.”

Behind them, Hotch stepped out of the interview room.  For once, their infallible leader looked as exhausted as the rest of them.  He joined the other three agents and stared at the headline on the TV critically.

“Weston Braly is the only one trying to deny anything,” he said.  “Nigel and Kayla have confessed, and their statements like up.  They’ll all be convicted, but they’ll be out of prison within five years unless they’re tried as adults.”

“They’ll have to be,” Morgan said.  “This is already all over the news.  They’re be public outrage if they weren’t.”

Hotch hummed a noncommittal noise.  “The fact that Dylan’s transgender is also all over the news,” he said lowly.  “This is Alabama.  The jury won’t be sympathetic to him.”

The others hadn’t thought about that and now the notion made them a little sick.  Hotch seemed to sense that and hurried them along to finish any remaining paperwork with Sheriff Howard.  Within the hour, they were on the jet.

“I just want to get home and see Henry,” JJ said a few hours later as the jet began its decent.  “And sleep or the next two days.”

“I feel that,” Morgan agreed. 

It’d been a rough case for all of them.  Reid was still asleep in his chair, and Morgan shook him awake as the plane got closer to landing.  The six agents were quiet as the disembarked and walked across the parking lot until Prentiss pulled out her phone and made a surprised noise.

“What is it?” Reid asked.

“An article about the Bradies,” Prentiss said.  She stopped walking and handed her phone to Reid.  The others crowded around to see.

The article itself was uninteresting, but it contained a screenshot from Dylan Brady’s Instagram.  The caption was a brief, surprisingly optimistic paragraph.  Despite the split lip and bruising, Dylan was smiling in the picture of him, his parents, and his brothers.  At the time the screenshot was taken, the picture had already hit twenty thousand likes.

“Tough kid,” Rossi commented.

“Yeah,” Morgan agreed.  “He’ll be alright.”

_I believe that children are our future. Teach them well and let them lead the way. Show them all the beauty they possess inside._

_-Whitney Houstan_


End file.
